


The lies I've told

by annoying_antisocial



Category: Psych
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Slow Build, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempts, a few cases here and there, and lassie will slowly fix him, but still funny as hell, either way., general depression, i dont know her name, mentions of self harm, not really the main thing though, oh yes shawn is very sad, protective!lassie, suicidal!shawn, suspicious!lassie, very sad, you will see
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-13
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-02-20 23:47:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2447513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annoying_antisocial/pseuds/annoying_antisocial
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shawn Spencer lies, not just to the SPBD or occasionally Gus, no Shawn Spencer lies to the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The first to see Truth

**Author's Note:**

> First Psych fic.  
> So hit me with your best shots kids, bring me down low low low and I'll get back up again! In other words: Review, kudos, and follow and throw everything you think at me. What don't you like? Tell me. What do you want to know more about? Scream it at me.  
> Everything you think about it, give it to me hard ;)  
> Also this ones SUPER FRIGGIN' SHORT BUT THEY'LL GET LONGER (dirty *giggle giggle*)

Shawn Spencer told lies like most people gave names. He told people he was psychic, or that he was a vacuum salesman. He told Gus that he was going one place then went somewhere else. He told his father he was moving for a job to Nebraska, and went to Wyoming. These were the lies he told people, the many different, crazy, changing lies of his life; but then there was the lie he showed people.

The lie that was the smile he perfected, the smile he showed with every inch of his body. The laugh he gave everyone, the joke that fell from his lips as a reply. The lie of happiness, of smiles, of being a carefree man child. The lie everyone believed, everyone was sure of.

Shawn knew he sold it well. He jumped and moved, planning everything he did, never letting a moment pass that he wasn’t pretending. His body unattached, separate from his mind. The body of a happy, content man who smiled all day, who could make people like him or hate him with a twitch. His happiness was so convincing he could believe himself, well in a way. He would believe it if he was seeing himself, seeing the body trained to be a lie. He wouldn’t doubt that person for a second, and that was the real problem.

No one saw the truth.

The truth of his mind. Not the part that saw everything, could pick up details, could play Sherlock Holmes. No the part that was the darkness. It lurked, slinking around his thoughts like a poison waiting to strike. Hitting him in waves that drowned any happiness that dared enter it’s sanctuary, burying him under a soil of wordless pain that never reached the part of him that the world saw. His mind was a graveyard, a mine field, a world that would scare anyone with sanity away.

Smoke turned inside of him, thick and gray plumes of acrid smoke. Choking him, crawling through him and burying itself in every crevice, every corner. Tying itself around the blizzard within his gut, the frozen tundra of his chest, and slipping through the flames that burnt through his heart.

It was a dramatic description, but Shawn knew it fit him. Oh it fit him like cinderella’s slipper. Manic-depressive. The only part that didn’t fit was the timeline. Most of them went high for a while then hit bottom for a long time, Shawn wasn’t like that. He flew high every day, with the sun and the birds, fooling everyone; but at night when the velvet shadows of night took hold he hit the bottom like an addict. It’s how he lived, flying high when anyone was looking, then falling and falling until he broke apart into shattered pieces across concrete.

So that’s why he was standing above the world in the dead of night. He wasn’t crying, or making a scene, so no one noticed the man near the edge. Near the breaking point, almost ready to fall and let his body break with his mind when the high ended.

It was coming on slowly, as it always did. Hiding near the edges, the darkness closing in slowly like a panther on the prowl, moving towards the helpless animal silently. It would take a while but soon the black beast would jump and take the pathetic, broken, baby animal down and rip it to shreds.

Then another baby would be born, just to go through the same thing.

This wasn’t the first time Shawn had waited with the stars, watching the last bits of the day, of his reason to fly, to lose themselves around the world. To feel cold night air drag calm patient fingers through his hair and over his skin. To pull him that one inch closer to their arms, that inch closer to the emptiness that fell over the world below. The peaceful arms that would hold him until he hit the bottom in a flash of white, hot pain and then he would be gone. The smoke would fade, the graveyard grow silent, the blizzards calm, and lastly the flame would fizzle gently to an ember in his chest until it, too, left the world behind.

He’d come here as a teenager, had stood on the edge waiting for sirens. For his father to come and shout, for people to care, but nothing ever came. He always stood with the hands of the night, letting the world continue around him as he stared into the blankness in front of him. The peace of the 11th hour laid there for him, and he’d been ready. He’d stepped to the last bit of the roof, of the world, and turned so he wasn’t looking at the street. He lifted his head to the sky, arms out wide like a cross. He smiled at the thought that he’d be going out with dramatics when he was attacked.

Not literally, but by that tiny part of his mind that survived every fall. The flower blossom of hope that kept him on the edge as the images assaulted him. One after the other, the little glow growing and growing, banishing smoke and darkness long enough to pull him from the night’s arms.

Gus, packed and ready to go away, to discover independance that morning. They were meant to leave tonight. His father looking somewhat please with him, maybe for growing up or maybe for leaving he didn’t know. His mother, rarely there but fleeting and beautiful, like an eclipse that blocked out all his pain for that short moment she was in view. Moments of his past, of smiling with his best friend, jokes and pineapples all invading the smoke and pushing it further and further.

Shawn had pulled himself back onto the world, back onto the roof of the office building he broke into, and took a breath that night. The bit of happiness gave him enough strength then to keep going. He went on for years, stopping occasionally in his moving around to stare a little longer at sleeping pills, or notice a blade’s sharpness and imagining it against his skin. To stand ontop of buildings and say hello to his old friend in the ebony around him, but he always kept going.

Tonight would be like the rest, he would move from the building to the door and he’d pound down those stairs. He’d burst through the door and stop where his body would’ve laid and then the panther would pounce and the brightness would scream in agony, falling under the power of the beast.

The real Shawn showing just a moment, eyes deep with a sadness so deep the Atlantic would drown in it. Hands shaking and chest heaving as short, burning breaths would stop in his throat, never moving to his gasping lungs. He’d stand there for ten minutes usually, trying to breath, trying to remember what oxygen felt like. He’d get a bitter taste of it before his booming chest would expel the blessed air back into the night.

Then he’d control himself, he’d close his eyes and let the muscle memory take over. He’d saunter down the street, smiling like he belonged there and no one ever saw, or knew what Shawn did those nights.

**At least they didn’t until the night Carlton Lassiter followed him.**


	2. The Truth he sees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carlton notices, and then he follows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the reviews both her and on ff.net! Keep it coming my darling readers! Every chapter, I know you have thoughts! If you're curious about something just say so, I'll see if I can elaborate!  
> I'm writing this for you guys, so let me hear what you want

Carlton Lassiter was perceptive, no matter what Shawn or Gus thought. He didn’t notice physical details as well as some officers, or put clues together as quickly, but he could read guilt like others read books. Emotions were easy for the head detective, he had a talent in spotting the shadows hidden inside. He could see through people, past the physical details and right into their eyes. The way the tilted their mouth, quirked their eyebrow, or wrestled with their fingers. It told him stories, it told him of lies, of pain, of happiness.

That’s why he was the head detective.

He could break people with his eyes, and he knew it. He had control over what shadows passed in his pupils, how the blue shimmered, how his eyebrow rose just that centimeter. He knew what look to contort his face into, the perfect face for each suspect, the stare that tore them to pieces. Carlton had a talent for spotting things that slithered under the surface, things people thought they could hide. He always  _saw._

Until Shawn.

It’s not that he didn’t see, because he did. A loch ness monster under the sea in the psychic’s eyes, something slithering and turning within the man. A beast waiting to be set free, he could see it, even if no one else even seemed to suspect a thing. Not Juliet, or Henry, or even Gus. No one saw the darkness, no one except Lassiter.

The problem that bloomed from this realization was this: Shawn was good. He must’ve been playing this game for a while. He could hide like no one else, and it didn’t matter how long Carlton seeked, he always had to give up and raise a white flag. He’d watched Shawn for a while now, ever since he’d first noticed. He remembered the day well, because it was the slowest he’d ever been in discovering someone’s lies.

Carlton always knew Shawn wasn’t a psychic, but whatever he was, he was good. The detective was annoyed to admit that, in fact, Shawn was a respectable detective, even if he pretended that wasn’t what he was. He thought that was the only secret within Spencer that he didn’t see, until that day.

He’d been on a role, nine cases solved, the entire department behind him. He always had good months like this once in a while, he lived for them. Then Spencer showed up, grinning as always; but there was something hiding behind it. Everyone noticed, they assumed it was jealousy, but Carlton knew jealousy and the shadows within Shawn Spencer were anything but. He started watching more closely than, listening for undertones inside of the jokes.

_”Do you think about jumping off a cliff often?”_

_“...Maybe…”_

The chief had taken it seriously for only a second, but the entire conversation was dismissed. Spencer was to happy-go-lucky for that, he was too confident, too clever. Oh, but Carlton knew what he’d heard. Slithering, sliding, gasping for a breath just to be heard was the plea sown deep within the syllables. A voice, dying and drowning, within the young man, hoping that one person would hear, one person might care.

That was when Lassiter started watching.

It was becoming more and more obvious now that he paid attention, that he took of the rose colored glasses. The fog Spencer swirled around himself thinning with every day that passed, the little things becoming glowing neon signs.

Hitches under his voice, subtle, soft, barely there. Twitches in his fingers, the shifting of his eyes when he made a joke, the tight line around his smile that he hadn’t been able to smooth. The last clue though, the final straw, was the way he looked out windows. It may seem to be an odd clue, something you wouldn’t notice, but Carlton saw it. He stared at the open air above the ground like an addict looked at a bottle; longing, regret and suffocating need braiding itself inside their gut until they were choking.

And one day, one word, one moment of weakness and the bitter taste would fill their mouths again, and they wouldn’t be able to pull themselves from the sea.

The way Spencer stared out windows made Lassiter’s chest tighten. Like the man was about to throw the glass from it with his mind, step just that much closer, and let himself slip away. Slip from everyone’s fingers and he could see that Shawn knew no one would understand. He must’ve been playing the act for years now, he was a master.

Carlton watched him closely when he looked outside, staring into the sky like a child would stare after a retreating parents back. It made him want to hold the younger man close, tell him the oxygen between the concrete and the sky would never give him the escape he wanted.

What kind of escape was death?

A final one, Carlton supposed.

Maybe that was what Shawn wanted, and Carlton understood that. To push the buzzing from his head, the laughter hanging at the base of his skull, the smirks burnt into his eyelids. He knew what it felt like to want to erase his brain, to make the wild fire in his thoughts flicker out. The last time he’d felt like that was when his wife left him, but he never was going to give up. He had a job, he knew how it felt to be happy and he was focused on getting there again.

Perhaps, then, Shawn simply didn’t know.

Being happy was an art Carlton barely perfect before it was snatched from him by the greedy world. He got a taste, and it was like the best wine to ever reach his tongue. Now he sought it out, searching for treasure like Indiana Jones. He’d had the wine within his grasp many times before, but always let it slip away, fall into an abyss where he could never reach it .

Carlton had made his heart walk a wire over a Nigara falls of broken glass to reach that happiness, and he knew he’d been brave to let himself take the risk. He’d usually fallen into the shards, been torn to bloody shreds, but once in a while he made it across.

So, maybe Shawn never took the risk.

Did that put him in more danger, or less? Carlton was unsure at first, maybe keeping your already chipped heart to yourself would protect you. It was a theory many people tried to practice, maybe Spencer had simply succeeded. Carlton tossed the idea around for a few days, still keep his watch over the young man.

Then one day Shawn came to the precinct with water dripping from every inch of his body, shivers trailing their way up and down his spine, and teeth beating themselves blunt. He saw Carlton first, since the detective was leaving, and there was pain so deep it made the detectives breath flee his lungs. There were so many swirling things inside the eyes he’d been careful to track. Hopelessness, like usual, but there was something new there. The twisting gray, that was searching the detectives face in confusion, held a betrayal beyond words.

Carlton knew in his heart, somewhere in the beating muscle, that Shawn was in danger. Shawn was going to do something stupid, maybe not today or tomorrow, but soon. He’d been living in breath taking, Shakespearean agony for his entire life, and he was strong, but no one was undefeatable. Spencer couldn’t hold himself up forever, and one day he’d crash, and it would be spectacular. Carlton knew that. He knew that when Spencer finally fell that he’d tumble, he’d twist and he’d leave the world quivering in his wake. Like a supernatural force he would take the earth down in beautiful torture, if only for a moment, and people would feel it for decades.

Spencer could do that.

“What happened to you?” Carlton finally asked after what could be considered a touchable silence. both men had studied each other, Spencer’s eyes raking over his body, but Carlton’s staying firmly on the other man’s face.

“B-b-bike g-g-got st-st-stolen.” Spencer growled, but Carlton saw the lie before he heard it. The light flashing over his eyes meant it was more, it was personal, but Spencer look ready to tear the world down with bleeding fingers. The detective wasn’t stupid.

“Take a cab next time, it’s pouring.” Carlton tried for exasperation, but worry trickled in like poison. Spencer noticed, the pain in his eyes dying just the little bit. Carlton spun on his heels and stomped back up the stairs, hearing the slapping of wet feet behind him. The detective turned into the break room, dropping to a crouch to pull open a cupboard no one ever used. The smell of mothballs mixed with the thick, bitter scent of lukewarm coffee as Carlton dug through the items within. The slush sloshing of wet jeans swishing behind him as Spencer shifted to get warmer. “Stop moving, you’re making noise. It’s annoying.”

“I’m c-c-cold!” Spencer pouted, and Carlton almost stiffened at the actual, touchable happiness that glided in and out of the mans voice. The detective ignored the thoughts as he finally pulled an old blanket from the back. Light blue and fraying around the edges, it looked like one of the itchy but warm things his grandmother would make him sleep with on December nights. He shoved it into Spencer’s shaking, blue hands and was startled by the grin he received in return. It was even a little sincere, around the edges.

“Then cover up, genius.” Carlton muttered, cutting around Spencer as he pulled the old thing around him self. The detective had no idea what he had been on his way to do when he’d met Spencer in the hall, but he knew one thing.

He had to help him.

Carlton knew Spencer would notice being followed. The man had quick wit and sharp eyes, it was almost scary the things he could notice. So the detective spent a week waiting, calculating, and finally discovering where Spencer went to every night. It took a few favors and more than a few awkward conversations, he got an address.

It turned out Spencer walked their every night, making himself easy to track,Carlton assumed it was on purpose. The more you hide the more suspicious you are. So after a week of...well in all honesty, stalking, Carlton got his address.

The his stomach fell to the floor.

It was a seven story office that was mostly abandoned after ten o’clock at night. The street was vacant except for the few stragglers from parties, and there were no homes in the vicinity. If Spencer were to do something stupid, it would be on top of that building.

So Carlton followed.

He watched, squinting as the moon outlined a figure, close to the edge but in no danger. Street lights spun a web with the stars, creating a mesmerizing scene floating just out of Carlton’s reach. The silence, punctuated by the screams of a siren in the distant city, curled around the figure, around Shawn Spencer. It held him in it’s arms, so secure, so safe, and so breakable. Like resting a finger on a spiders web, one false movement and everything could crumble away and you would never be able to reweave the creation.

Shawn moved just a breath closer to the edge and Carlton felt his entire body cease. Muscle tensing under his skin, like metal wires, immovable. His lungs refusing air, his heart beating fast enough to power a city. Wide eyes staring, pleading with Spencer’s mistress, the nights, begging it to let him go. Begging the world, the God he didn’t believe in, to uncoil from around the man. Bargaining silently as his body stood like a statue in the shadows, hidden away as his mind whirled into a panic.

Carlton didn’t know why he felt so desperate to hold Shawn there, to force the young man with the silence of his mind to stand where he was, to not let go yet. All he knew was he wouldn’t allow him to fall, he would bend the world around his fingers and break time over his knee to keep Shawn from the ledge.

A reason crawled into his mind, whispering in an acid like voice, but he threw it with the force of a God. He would not believe that, he couldn’t let that happen. His only job was to try and help Spencer, to hold him away from the edge. He was just doing what was best for the department, they needed their wonder boy, even if LAssiter was loath to admit that.

Carlton watched- feeling air dance into his lungs like a blessed prayer, his muscle finally untangling themselves-as Shawn turned from the edge, from his secret love of the open air and the concrete that lay at the end of it, and slammed the door shut on the roof. He watched as Shawn came out to greet the place he would've lied, where his blood would’ve cooled. He watched as Shawn's back went pin straight before his shoulder hunched inwards and he nearly doubled over.

He took every ounce, every breath of self control within the man to not run to his colleague. He watched with a bitter taste heavy on his tongue as the bitter air of the vacant street held Shawn in it’s lying, unforgiving arms and he fell apart. Carlton also watched as Shawn taped his persona back together, sticking shards of glass together with Elmer glue, knowing they would all topple over again.

Carlton saw the truth, he’d seen it for a few weeks now, but now he _felt_  it. He felt the coldness, the numbness that he’d locked away those years ago.

_"John listen, this isn’t...this isn’t worth it.” Twenty two and already wiser than most adults, a boy with wire muscles and ebony hair pleaded with his best friend, his only friend, his love. “You’re important, you know that. You’re important to me.” Tears, burning like fire flickering in Pacific blue eyes, usually so calm and under control, now tormented with agony and grief. Worst of all was the guilt hidden inside the black of the pupils as he stared at the gun pressed against the man he loved’s temple._

_“Oh Carly…” The soldier sounded far beyond his years, sounded like a drowning man, finally given up. “I love you.”_

**Carlton shook the memory away, his past wasn’t allowed to effect this. Shawn maybe a nuisance, but he was an important one; and Carlton was the only one who knew the world might lose him.**


	3. Shawn Couldn't Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shawn could never stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References to 'Rent' in here! Love that movie!  
> Also a bit past Shawn/oc woman, but don't worry the past is the past!  
> COMMENT COMMENT COMMENT i'm still unsure about this story!

Shawn noticed Lassie watching him, he noticed the stares, the confused looks, the silence of the observer. He felt like a rat in a cage, running around manically, trying to figure out his goal, big blue eyes catching every move. At first he thought he was making himself see what wasn’t there, watching for signs that couldn’t be real. Then he realized it couldn’t be, because there was no reason he’d _want_  Carlton _Lassiter_  staring at him, he didn’t want the detectives attention!

_‘Methinks the lady doth protest too much.’_ The annoying little voice, suspiciously sounding like Gus, bumped into his thoughts and made him snort. He didn’t want Lassie watching him, no way. He just noticed that it was happening, that’s what he did after all. He noticed things.

Shawn picked at his Chinese noodles with disinterest trying to summon up any logical reason for the attention. Attraction wasn’t an option, and he wasn’t a suspect in any of Lassie’s cases. Had he done something strange recently? Well more than flounce around and grope people.

_‘Grope Lassie.’_ The tiny-head-Gus sing-songed and Shawn growled to himself. He leaned the chair he’d been balancing on even further back, throwing the chinese in (well near) the trash can. With a sigh he let the wheels clatter to the floor, and propped his elbows on the desk, burying his hands in his hair as he glared at the stain from his smoothie on the wood. It probably shouldn’t bother him that much, people stared sometimes. They didn’t always have reasons, maybe Lassie was distracted lately.

_‘C’mon man.’_ Tiny-head-Gus groaned from somewhere inside Shawn’s head. _‘What’s really up, Shawn?_ ’ He couldn’t answer. 1. Because he was having some kind of telepathic conversation with a voice in his head, and 2. because he didn’t know. What could Lassiter really be deducing?

Shawn knew that man was a good detective. Not in the same sense as the fake-psychic, he didn’t see clues and put things together like rapid fire in his brain. He didn’t see patterns in nothing, or see clues under clues under dirt. No, Lassie’s game was different.

He played people.

He saw lies, he saw pasts, he saw pain. He picked out mental weaknesses and shot at them relentlessly. Guilty or not, Carlton Lassiter would figure you out and tear you to pieces. Shawn knew that, Shawn was _scared_  of that. Lassiter was the only person he was worried could pick out his lies. The man already knew he wasn’t psychic, Shawn knew Lassiter was certain of that. Though the detective never brought it up with much force, or even tried to prove it, which was interesting.

A mystery for another time.

The lie Shawn hid with all his mind, all his being, every ounce of willpower...That was the secret he was scared Lassie would pick out. The lie sown into every movement, every breath, every moment of his life. His highs and his crashes, his glass world and the darkness bubbling and giggling beneath. The lie no one knew, the lie he’d kept from his Sherlock Holmes of a father, and Dr. Shrinky-dink of a mother. The beast in his mountain cave, the monster no one got close enough to see. That was the lie Shawn was worried Lassiter would decode, fight into, figure out with his icy eyes and clever mind.

The lie he _couldn't_  let be discovered...What if that’s why Lassie was staring?

Shawn’s head snapped up, hands still in his hair as he stared at nothing. Eyes wide and frightened, gray bouncing with the horror. What if Lassiter had finally tore his way through the walls, peeled the paint and threw the dirt. Swam Shawn’s moat, found his beast. Shawn didn’t have a princess to offer, just a dark shadow that twirled and twisted around you, swallowing you whole. A monster that couldn’t be tamed, or killed, only destroyed; and to destroy the beast was to destroy the man that it hid within.

Panic burned red hot in his chest, a tornado ripping through his high hours early. All his willpower, his smiles, his jokes, his **_lies_**  being torn away from him. Snatched and ripped was his daylight, the night falling before dusk. Sunlight dragged away, claws still in the ground as the panther cackled in the corner of his being. Prowling and purring as it lurked, circling the shrinking fawn of happiness in the center. The little animals light already dim, the panthers darkness swallowing the world around it. Shawn couldn’t fight the panther back, he couldn’t summon memories to hold it at bay. He wasn’t ready, it wasn’t time, but it was happening.

The inevitable fall of a high.

Breath was stolen, air like a drop of a rain in a desert. Eyes burnt like coals, hands shaking like leaf in the wind. Chest heaving, up and down it moved, pulling nothing in expelling everything out. Body jerking, throat closed, air gone, sight dimming. Shawn was on his knees, having dropped from the chair when it started. This wasn’t the worst, it was only the build up before the crescendo. When the fawn fell, and the panther ruled once more.

The pseudo-psychic curled in on himself, down like a man praying as he lost control of the only thing in the world that was truly his. His mind yanked from his grasp, the panther grinning like a Joker as he came in for the final kill, the fawn on the ground already given up. Shawn gasped, one breath of air into his lungs before it happened, the loudest note in his choir. The final kill.

He screamed.

Shawn hadn’t screamed in years, he’d been close many times, but he always swallowed it before it escaped to the air. Before it notified someone, gave the call his body wanted to send out. Before it got him help, and before it told everyone how broken he was. The last time he’d fallen and screamed was five years, four months and six days ago. He’d left before his girl of the moment brought him to the hospital, and started over again.

Shawn had screamed a lot as a child, but could always pass it off as a nightmare. As a teen he began to gain control, and when he lost his grasp on the leash everyone assumed he was being obnoxious. When he finally climbed to adulthood he didn’t scream, or at least not around people. Even though it felt like a demon was ripping his throat to shreds when he held it back, even if his lungs impaled themselves on his ribs and his heart went like an a-bomb, he never screamed.

He couldn’t let anyone see, anyone hear, that the man they knew was a creation. A game of pretend Shawn played during the day, the man he wanted to be. Screaming meant weakness, and it meant help, but Shawn was to afraid of the first to forgo the second. This fall was different, this crash hurt more. His fawn fell too soon, and the panther was too strong, and the battle within his mind was too loud.

He just wanted silence, he just wanted peace. For once in his life...he just needed it to stop.

Shawn screamed until the one gasp of air he’d pulled in was spent, and his lungs were flat. He rocked back and forth on his knees, breath short and bursting, tears burning and itching there way down his face. His throat felt like it was stuffed with lava, and his lungs still didn’t have enough air. This was the worst attack he’d had in years, the worst fall. Like he’d been in an airplane for years and now he was being pushed out, no parachute and no hope of survival.

Somewhere inside he was certain Lassiter had figured him out, or at least part of him. That was what made this crash the worst, he might be figured out. Everyone could know, they all might find out. They’ll hate him, he can already see their faces. Disgust, hurt, pity, disappointment, sadness. All of them turning away, leaving him alone with the panther, the smoke, the battle, the beast. Leaving him to fight it all on his own with a broken stick.

They’d all leave him he was certain of it. His breath was coming quicker, shallower. Shawn would be alone, he’d be alone with that thing inside of him and he couldn’t...wouldn’t...he can’t…

He was going to be alone, and he was going to fall.

Shawn doubled forward, face near the ground as he hugged himself, reaching for control when it was miles away. He was trying for breath, fighting for light, but the panther just sat in the center of everything. Black fur sleek and face smug as it tailed swished back and forth with pleasure. Shawn knew his battle was lost, and that the happiness he held wasn't returning.

At least not today.

Shawn felt heavy, air hanging over his limbs, sunlight weighing him down. He gasped again, sitting up straight and looking towards the ceiling. Searching for something in the cracked white that he'd never find.

_'You'll be fine.'_ Tiny-head-Gus whispered in his mind, and Shawn pulled air into his lungs. He pulled in his breath counting slowly to four, holding the oxygen in his lungs as he counted to 7, and then releasing it slowly. Already his body began to relax, even if the beast was still ruling his kingdom. It still was too late, the monster had taken it’s hold and Shawn was powerless.

So Shawn did what he had to when a fall came too soon, he hid. Turning his phone off and pulling his helmet over his head he stopped being the always laughing, always cheerful psychic. Swinging one leg over the seat, gripping the handlebars and staring at pavement he became the pathetic, weak, undependable man he truly was.

He turned the bike on and began driving, Shawn couldn’t stay.

* * *

 

_”You’re...leaving?” Gus said, staring at Shawn, mouth opening around words that couldn’t form and closing on syllables that disappeared on his tongue. “Shawn we’re supposed to be going to our dorm room tomorrow! Where are you gonna go?”_

_“Wherever I want, buddy. I’m eighteen now!” Shawn preened, grinning so big it hurt his cheeks. His mask had gotten better over the years, even Gus stopped asking ‘what’s wrong’. Shawn pretended the crumbling inside brown eyes he’d known his entire life wasn’t tearing his gut to pieces. “Oh c’mon, don’t worry. I’ll send plenty of post cards and visit sometimes! You’ll do great in the big bad world.” Gus’s lip trembled, his eyes closed and he turned his cheek away. Shawn knew what was coming, even though it hadn’t happened since they were 9. Gus was going to cry. Not the disappointed cry of getting a ‘C’ on his Geometry test, or the angry cry of breaking up with Maddie._

_No, this was the cry that only ever happened because of Shawn._

_Last time it was because Shawn had said he was going to move in with his mother. The same face, the same slow heartbreak of being left behind. The pain that could only be felt by a best friend, and the pain that usually caused the other to stay._

_Shawn couldn’t stay._

_“Hey, hey dude!” Shawn said, pulling a hand through ridiculously blonde hair. “Don’t do this, it’s not like I’m dying. I’ll stay in contact. Our buddy bond can’t be broken by a little distance.” Still the sharp intake of breath and stuttering exhale sent claws through Shawn’s spine. Gus blinked, turning his entire buddy to the side, shoulders tense under his sweater vest. The night hair silent and broken by the teen’s attempts at pride._

_Shawn couldn’t stay._

_“I can’t believe this Shawn,” Voice strained, breathing hard. It was breaking point, this was where everything was going to change. Shawn could interrupt now, could gorilla glue everything together and make a joke. Get in the car that morning, sell the motorcycle he’d bought, go with his best friend. Go with the reason he didn’t step off the roof those weeks ago. The only thing that would keep him above water no matter what._

_Shawn couldn’t stay._

_“You really are going to do this?” Gus shouted, tears unashamedly glowing down his cheeks. “You’re just going to-to run away? Leave me! What? Grin, make a joke, and disappear. ‘Hope Gus isn’t too pissed.’” His voice was high and crackling, gravely with the the way only someone who meant everything could make your throat close. He mocked Shawn’s voice for the last statement, and it stung. Shawn considered getting angry, but he couldn’t do it. He was hurting right now, it was late and the way his words made Gus’s face transform was just food for the fire. The blonde shook his head, looking away. “Then what?”_

_“I just..” Shawn sighed deeply, playing with his hands before throwing them up. “I just...college isn’t for me dude. It’s your thing, you’re the smart one-” He was cut off by an abrupt, tortured bark of laughter. Shawn glanced up to find furious brown eyes, red rimmed and shimmering, staring down at him. They were practically the same height, how could Gus stare down?_

_“Smart one?” High pitched, furious, broken. “Shawn I can memorize names and facts. I did my homework and I studied like crazy but...” The words slowed and Gus sighed, pulling his hands down his face. “You’re the genius. I know that, everyone knows that...In the long run you’re the one who’s gonna make an impression. You...you can make things different and if you tried you could...be anything.” Gus was practically whispering, and both boys knew what this was._

_Shawn couldn’t stay._

_The bags were packed, but for two different places. A motorcycle was shining behind the bushes, a car was packed down the street. A dorm room ready on campus, and an apartment already filling up with a few mailed clothes across the state. The tears were falling, the words were already captured by the night air. They could not be changed, the statement could not be forgotten._

_Neither of them knew what they were going to do, what it was like without the other, or how to forget the pain building inside. Neither of them knew when they’d see each other again, or if they could ever be the same. Neither of them knew how to do it, but they both knew one thing._

_This was Goodbye because Shawn couldn’t stay._

* * *

 

Shawn hated silence, and that’s why he talked so much. Silence meant thinking, and thinking meant memories and it also meant he’d have to go into his own mind. There was no escaping it, he tried but his brain still buzzed with all the pain he felt, the panic, the need for control. There was an exit up ahead, an exit that would take him farther away than he intended to go.

It was inviting, empty and familiar. He could turn there, just there and he could leave again. No tears this time, no explanations, no goodbyes.

Shawn couldn’t stay.  

* * *

 

_15 today._

_He looked around the small get together. Gus, his father, his grandfather, his uncle, but one seat was empty. He was smiling, but even the practiced mask cracked a little when he saw that chair. The one person he wanted, desperately, to sweep through the door. The one person he really looked forward to seeing today._

_Business. That’s what it was every time. A call, an emergency, a client, a cop. Someone needed help, someone wanted her expertise. Someone was calling upon her today, of all days, and she answered. Because she always answered, because she always could help. Like her ex-husband she saw little things other people didn’t, like her son she could put them together and solve a problem. She always saw._

_Well almost always._

_His father gave him a little smile, looking ridiculous with green at the corners of his mouth and a party hat on. Henry got up and squatted next to him, taking the paper plate from his sons hands. Shawn couldn’t work up his usual teenage rebellious energy, and just let his father ruffle his hair and push his own party hat askew._

_“Don’t worry about it kid,” Henry said, glancing at the chair. “She’ll come tomorrow.” With that the detective got up and walked to the kitchen, his partner at his side and laughing at a stupid joke his father made. Gus tossed Shawn’s wrapped present at his best friend and Shawn grinned._

_“Guess.” Gus said, it was his favorite game._

_“Two movies, a book I’ll never read and,” Shawn shook the box gently, squinting his eyes. “A furby? Seriously man I’m 15.” Gus grinned and pouted at the same time in an entirely Burton Guster fashion._

_“I swear the boys psychic.” His grandfather chuckled, and his uncle grinned. Gus rolled his eyes and snatched another slice of cake before leaning back and watching his best friend go through and guess all his gifts except the one from Henry. That game was for Christmas._

_Shawn pushed the paper into a giant black bag, piling the gifts up and plastering on a smile. The chair mocked him from beside Gus. He kept glancing at it as the night went on and jokes flew back and forth._

_Empty. It stayed empty, just like it had on Christmas and Thanksgiving. It stayed empty. Always. Empty. Empty. Empty!_

_Shawn could feel an attack inching closer, his breathing becoming just that little bit shallower. Sweat on his forehead, throat sore, mind racing, leg jiggling. He was going to break. The chair was still empty. He glanced around, no one had noticed, too busy talking. He might have to explain himself in the morning, he may be grounded, he may get yelled at; but then he looked at the chair._

_Shawn was on his feet so fast his head spun, everyone turned to look at him in confusion. Their eyes burned over his skin, making his fingers twitch. His father was glaring, but concerned and Gus was moving to stand also. Everyone was looking, they all were going to see, they all would know, they’d hate him for his weakness. He was pathetic, he should relax, they kept staring at him. The chair was empty._

_The 15 year old ran to the stairs, but his mind was racing. Foot steps already following him, his room wasn’t safe enough. He veered around, turning straight to the door. He could hear his father and his father’s partner close behind. The world was moving just enough for Shawn to notice, and his skin was prickling. His stomach dropped and twisted like there was a tornado inside of it. The door handle wouldn’t cooperate, footsteps getting closer. He couldn’t fall apart in front of them, he’d kept it together for 15 years. Now wasn’t the time to let them know._

_The door finally opened and he was outside, down the stairs, over the yard and to the road. He didn’t know where he was going, he didn’t know how he’d get there or even if he could but the footsteps were still there and he couldn’t let them catch up. Gus was fast, fast then him and he would catch up._

_No! gus couldn’t find out, no way. No one could, and his lungs didn’t want the air around him. Shawn’s feet were vibrating with the pavement they hit, and his head was pounding. He was shaking, gasping, possibly crying, but never stopping. Twists and turns, short cuts and a few broken lawn gnomes and he hadn’t heard footsteps in a long time. Yet he kept running, kept going for fear they’d catch up._

_Shawn couldn’t stay._

* * *

 

He’d passed the exit.

Though there were others ahead, other places to escape to. He could still run if he wanted, or he could go home. He could go back to psych, he could go anywhere right now. The sun was high, and hot on his leather clad back. The helmet was heavy on his head, and the handle bars were comfortable in his hands. He could go for ever on this bike, run and hide and never let anyone know.

He could disappear, and maybe everyone would hate him and maybe he’d lose all the respect of the people he cared about; but they’d never know why. He couldn’t allow them to know, to think they’d failed or it was their fault. Shawn wouldn’t allow them feel even an ounce of his pain, it was his. He was the weak one, he was the one who couldn’t be happy. They shouldn’t have to deal with it.

A thought that always lurked underneath the surface, and Shawn turned onto an exit. One that brought him back to Santa Barbara, and back to a doctor that owed him a favor.

Shawn couldn’t stay.

* * *

 

_“I know you hurt Shawn-”_

_“Sarah, stop.” Shawn held up a hand, shaking his head. The woman before him whimpered. Her beautiful, pale face pink and wet. Big, gorgeous brown-yellow eyes staring at him. Long, brown hair naturally framing her face matted and pulled, messy and wet on her cheek. Lips bitten, hands shaking. This is why he never let people find out. “I just...I can’t-”_

_“I know.” That’s why he knew part of his heart belonged to this short, odd, tantalizing woman. The woman who always had paint under her fingernails and a smile on his face, one of the first people that ever made the panther stay away. “I know you can’t stay. I...I’m just going to have to settle for my paintings.” She gave him her perfect little tearful smile, the same one she had worn the time she burnt his birthday cake and scorched the oven. Another pang went through his body. “Shawn ever since I spilled coffee all down your shirt,” He remembered, it was a white polo. It was stained, ruined completely and he’d never get rid of it. “I knew you were someone special, but also knew you were like Blizzard in July. Rare and gone far too soon.” she could’ve been a writer, she made art with her words like she did with her hands._

_Shawn felt tears on his cheeks. He hated this, he hated goodbye. He never wanted to let her go, let go of his moon. Pure and good, bright and there to shine for everyone. Dependable, different, memorable, and loyal. She shone brighter than the circle in the sky._

_Sarah deserved a sun to orbit her, not a broken super nova that would take her down with him._

_“Shawn,” She whispered, brown-yellow eyes looking up at him with concern. “I know I can’t keep you, I know you’re going to go somewhere knew but...keep me in your heart alright. Never forget that I loved you desperately, quickly, and forever.” She put a small, elegant hand covered in gold and blue paint over his heart and he never wanted to let her go. “When you feel like giving up, please...Remember our year? The world needs you, it’s lucky to have you.” Shawn didn’t want to let go, he loved her. He wanted to see her in a white dress, tripping down the aisle and giggling at him. He wanted to see her with a baby in her arms, hair tangled and up ontop of her head. Wanted to see her everyday, everynight. wanted her paintings cluttering the wall, wanted to hold her always cold hand in his to keep it warm. Wanted to see the snow in her dark hair again, and wanted to see when her hair turned gray._

_He wanted so much, and he knew she wanted it to; but it could never happen. Even if they fit together like puzzle pieces, and made each other smile no matter what. He couldn’t see her like this everytime he had an attack, couldn’t see tears and scared eyes staring at him everytime he lost control. Couldn’t put her through that._

_“Of course button,” He smiled sadly at her, taking the paint covered, calloused hands he loved so dearly in his. “I could never forget it. We’re like Angel and Collins, I’ll cover you.”_

_“I’m not dying Shawn,” She scrunched up her nose and puffed out a laugh. “And neither are you.” She said sternly, glaring. He nodded. “And you’re right. It doesn’t matter where you go, or if we are together or not.” She leaned up kissed his cheek gently, like a whispered goodbye inside a burning building. “I’ll cover you.” She sang softly against his skin, her voice breaking again._

_“Just pay me back with one thousand kisses.” He sang back, leaning down and pressing his lips to hers. They stood there, not kissing but trying to prolong what was coming. The inevitable closing of a door, his back disappearing and a motorcycle engine gliding over the morning air. Holding onto this thing they’d found, but now was slipping through their fingers. Like water cupped in their hands, the last droplets falling away. They held the last one held between them, waiting to be tipped away at last. It was always coming here, ending here, but they used to pretend it wasn’t._

_They couldn’t play anymore, and Sarah broke away first. She gave him that smile that used to make his knees buckle, the smile that had sent him faltering the first time. That smile that still gave him butterflies. “I always wanted a ‘one that got away’” Sarah whispered, matching his upbeat attitude in bad situations like she always did._

_“I thought that I already had that, but..” He squeezed her hands one last time. Taking a moment to memorize how they fit in his palms, the feeling of short nails against his skin and flaking paint. Nothing would ever feel like that again. “Your the one I let get away, button.” He sighed, loosening his grip and he felt her do the same. Both pulled away slowly, letting their hands fall awkwardly to the side._

_“Shawn Spencer, my snowstorm.” She whispered, taking her step away. The cold air that hit him felt like bullets against his skin. “I love you-”_

_“I love you too Sarah…”_

_“Sh,” She scolded, smiling. “I love you **and** that’s why I’m letting you go.” He opened his mouth, words feeling like bile as they rolled up to his tongue. “No it’s not because I think you’ll come back. It’s because I know that somewhere someone is going to be able to do this right, and help you the way you need it. Be stronger. I wish I could pull a Thor over here, but I’m afraid I’m not able to lift the hammer.”_

_“Sarah...This isn’t your fault.”_

_“I know pineapple brains.”_

_“Then why-”_

_“Because, we were made for each but only for a while,not for forever.” Why did she have to be so perfect? He wanted to hold her, but he knew that it would only hurt worse to let go._

_“Sarah Alvina, I’m...sorry.” He said, taking his own step back. “Remember me not as the jackass who broke your heart?”_

_“Just that good looking guy that I never had to fake it for.” She winked, and that was Sarah. That was how she left him stunned, and in love, even when he walked out the door to meet the world he’d ignored for those past 12 and a half months._

_Shawn couldn’t stay._  

Shawn stopped outside the slightly questionable looking free clinic. Inside he could get the one escape that meant forever, the one thing that meant no one could make him feel it anymore. Inside was a doctor he’d proved wasn’t a murderer, technically, and one who’d give him the pills he wanted without question.

Inside was the one way he could betray Sarah.

Shawn would stay.

_“But in the end one needs more courage to live than to kill himself.”_

_ ― [Albert Camus](http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/957894.Albert_Camus) _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keep reading, the boys will get better!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm back, I'm trying, it probably won't be great.  
> .  
> .  
> I appreciate helpful comments, but when reviewing some comments int he past they were less than helpful, mostly just mean. I understand having a different idea than the author, wanting the story to go somewhere else, or a character or scene you feel wasn't necessary being annoying. However, I am sharing my stories with you all, I love to do so, but my stories can't always make everyone happy. I make myself happy with them and I hope they do the same for all of you, I want to know how you feel and if you're enjoying it, but please don't tell me my story 'lost you' because of a reference or scene or character I put in. I'm sorry if you didn't enjoy that moment, I empathize with that, but I also know that those annoying moments for readers don't ruin an entire story and you shouldn't hate every moment you loved for one you didn't enjoy.   
> And yes, if you're wondering, that is why I left two years ago. I wanted to write for myself for awhile because I lost inspiration due to so many hurtful comments about creative decisions I made as the author.  
> Thank you for bearing with me if you read my rant.  
> .  
> .  
> Enjoy!

The first night Carlton followed out of duty, the second out of curiosity, the third out of concern. By the fourth day Carlton had no reason to follow, except that he couldn’t stop. He was already tracking, sliding quickly, carefully, tailing Shawn everynight. It was the same routine, same building, same time, same end result, but Carlton also saw the little changes. He saw how Shawn moved up the stairs a little slower, stood closer to the edge every night, had an attack that lasted just a little bit longer. Every night Carlton saw these little changes, every night he edged closer to the light, closer to being discovered, because he could barely hold himself from rushing up those stairs. Taking Shawn in his arms, pull him from that ledge.

Every night the streaming light would ask ‘why?’, the darkness around him would press at his sides and giggle as he choked on his reply. ‘Protection’ he’d whisper to the golden light produced by electric wires, ‘No!’ the darkness would tease, prodding him, ‘What’s the real reason?’ 

‘I don’t know’ He’d reply with a blink and with silence, and he’d continue to stare. The light kept asking, the darkness kept cackling, and Shawn kept inching closer to the edge. With every step the night’s laughter would raise, making Carlton’s muscles twitch and tingle. A stream of golden light would try for comfort, coaxing him forward with warm looking reflections, with promises of Shawn’s smile in the new beginning of every day. 

It was the fifth day, and Shawn was three feet from the last bit of Earth holding him to life. Echoing laughter, whispered reassurances and Lassiter could feel a familiar tingle swirling in his fingertips. Could imagine the prick of a clean needle beside the last still red mark where the addiction seeped into him. His fingers, shaking and sweaty, clenched tightly against his side as he reflexively tugged his sleeves down. Shawn silhouette staring out at the night sky, shoulders tense and body too close to the edge for comfort. Fear like chains looped around the detective in a hellish grasp, holding him in place as Shawn took the step closer that he always did. Carlton’s voice curling up his throat then tying to his teeth, shout caught in a dry mouth. 

‘Too close, too close.’ ‘Stop!’ ‘Go back!’ ‘Shawn!’

Shawn turned, and Carlton could breath again. It’s been five days like this, and that wasn’t long in the view of the world but to the head detective it was a century. A hundred years of turmoil, 36524 days of silent screeches to a deaf outline in the sky, 876581 hours of imprisonment for a crime he didn’t commit.  

Condemned by a DNA designed for addiction, and an emotion he never imagined he’d feel again.

Shawn was on the sidewalk, he was heaving, tears against his cheeks and back bent. Pain written in the air around him, the light looking on with pity as the darkness grinned down upon the man. Lassiter’s chains held him to his place in the shadows, forever an observer, never taking action. A prisoner of a man before him, agony wracking their body as Carlton stood, just out of reach and never moving in time.

* * *

_“Carlton.” John’s voice held nothing as he looked around their apartment. A syringe on hard wood, his fiance splayed across the couch, arm red with needle marks. “Dammit.” He rushed to his boyfriend’s side, noting the barely open eyes and, ironically, the police academy shirt with sweat stains. Bending down he pressed cold, shaking fingers against the pulse point and found one, rapid and unsteady._

_ “Jaaawn.” It was drawn out, the young man’s voice a wheeze between chapped lips. “Home...early.” He coughed, and John felt his heart lurch. What if his idiot of a genius over did it this time?  _

_ “You can’t do this anymore.” The blonde said, swallowing his sadness back. “I won’t let you.” _

* * *

 

Spencer was moving again, slipping himself back together, but Carlton saw the slower pace. He saw tense shoulders, and a bowed head. The twitching of fingers against the young mans leg and the uneven breathing that echoed through the air. A motorcycle engine and tires grinding against a black sea. A speck, disappearing and Carlton couldn’t move.

Memories assaulted him faster than he could push them away, things he’d locked away for years swirling back to the surface like a sand storm. The child inside, still curled up with his knees to his chest and face wet, trapped inside a darkness that tries to destroy him. The detective that tried to recreate himself’s armor falling apart under his fingertips.

* * *

_“Leave.” Carlton said, breaking the calm and the happiness that had fallen over the apartment. John halted, mid-slice of the pepper. His back was straight, his shoulders curved inward. Carlton thought he could hear his teeth grinding._

_ “Is that what you want?” _

_ “No.” The shoulders raised, and Carlton could feel the confusion that was taking hold. “It’s what has to happen.” _

_ “Oh yeah?” Laughter, bitter with the taste of an end. “Why?” _

_ “Because I’m a fucking bomb.” Carlton shouted, sudden and unexpected, on his feet before he knew what was happening. John turned to lock eyes, winter blue on ever-changing brown, and found tears. “My timer’s already started and there’s no stopping it!” Carlton heard the sleeve of his shirt tears as he yanked it up. Angry red marks, scabs and scars dotted over pale skin. John turned away, glaring at his shoes. “Look at me dammit!” Growled, and the blonde obeyed. “I’m broken, defective, and I can’t stop. I’m taking myself down, I know it, and I can’t fucking stop.” _

_ “Carlton…” _

_ “No! There’s...I....I’m a pathetic, useless addict.” He spat the words to the world, and wished they weren’t true. “I’m not interested in collateral damage when I finally go off.” Blue eyes pleaded, adam's apple bobbed, hands shook but they met no pity. John stood slowly, shoulders pressed back and chin raised. A proud soldier, a bomb couldn't make him flinch, let alone run. _

_ “Three years, Carly, three years I have stayed despite this.” Carlton couldn't make eye contact. He'd dropped half of his classes, he would enver become a cop, let alone a detective. All he would ever be is a low life. John deserved better than that. ”I know you're too smart to think I'd go now." _

_ “I don’t want to do this too you.” Carlton said softly, staring at the prick marks down his boney fore arm. He didn't want this anymore, he hadn't in so long, but he couldn't stop.  “I....I can’t go for help or I’ll lose everything.” Carlton heard the footsteps and felt the warmth of his lover against his body. “Please, John, please...leave.” He whispered as arms encircled his waster. He heard a soft, defiant chuckle. _

_ “No way in hell.”  _

* * *

 

Carlton was moving, and he didn’t know when he started, but somehow he was in a car. He was driving towards his house, but his mind was in a different city, a different time.

* * *

 

_ “Go to a hospital.” John was shouting as Carlton hacked into the toilet, his voice bouncing off of tile. Carlton shaking so violently his knees lost their place on the tile floor and he landed painfully on his side. Turning over he blurrily looked up to find a glaring, worried face over him. _

_ “N-no..” He wheezed, and the face above him sighed. _

_ “Stop this!” _

_“No!” Carlton was pushing himself up on shaking arms, and glared defiantly up at the older blonde. “I...I’m going to be better.…For the academy. For you.” Carlton’s vision was going dark, but he knew he saw tears in John’s eyes as he bent closer to help him sit against the counter._  

* * *

 

The car engine was off, and the detective was moving across cold pavement. Up the stairs quickly and down the walkway to his house he unlocked the door. Part of him thought he was crying, but the other part of him was concentrated on finding a box. Hidden carefully, his past failures and his one true happiness enclosed within it.

Up to the top floor, then pulling down the folding stairs that lead to his attic Carlton crawled under where the ceiling dipped low to kiss the floor boards and pulled a dusty cardboard box into the center of the room. 

The sound of the sides sliding against each other made him cringe as he let the dust clear to look down into the world he never told anyone about.

A picture the made his heart ache brilliantly in his chest smiled up at him. Two young men, still in college, happier than they had any right to be. The shorter of the couple blonde with brown eyes and a black, sleek suit on. The taller, lankier one looking awkward as he held a little too tightly to his new husband, wore a sharp white suit with a blue undershirt. Rings, bright and new, on their fingers as a proud mother cried in the background.

A few others were around, the small town unjudgemental and happy for their hometown boys,happily sticking their tongue out at the photographer. Everyone looked glad to be there, and Carlton remembered how happy he’d been then. Remembered the apartment being to small and always smelling like coffee, remembered John curled against him on the couch, remembered seeing the world for the first time in years without drug’s blurring the edges.  

Remembered the echoing noise of a gunshot.

Carlton swallowed hard and set the picture aside carefully, finding an old american army shirt folded up there. His temples pounded as he smiled at the cotton in his hands. Shaking the old thing out a metal necklace clattered to the floor, dog tags glinting in the moonlight. Carlton held them tightly in his palm, staring at silver memories for a moment before coming to a decision.

John wasn’t a failure to be ashamed of.

The man slipped the cool chain over his head and let out a breath he’d been holding for nearly twenty years as they rested against his chest. Carlton gently cradled the old rag of a shirt in his hands and felt an old, private smile spread across his mouth.

* * *

 

_“That’s my button down.” Carlton said with his eyebrows drawn, inspecting his boyfriend with confusion. The man lifted his own hand and pointed to the shirt hanging off Carlton’s shoulders._

_ “Yeah and that’s my Guns and Roses shirt.” He retaliated and the student-officer huffed, turning back to his studying. John chuckled, ruffling Carlton's hair as he walked by and making the younger man snort indignantly. “It’s long again.” _

_ “I’m getting it cut next week.” _

_ “You shouldn’t.” John had pulled the carton of milk from their fridge and was drinking from the container, ignoring the glare leveled at his head. “You look cute with it long.” _

_ “I do not,” Carlton had somehow teleported to the kitchen and ripped the carton from John's hands as the man smirked up at him. “Look cute!”  _

_ The smirk stayed and Carlton stomped his foot in a very mature fashion well putting the milk back. “Now, go to work.” He pouted and John’s smirk turned full grin as he grabbed the taller mans face with both hands and gave him a wet kiss. _

_ “Love you.” He whispered, forehead resting against Carlton’s. _

_ “I love you to.” The younger man replied, pecking the other’s lips quickly. “Now go, fix a car.” _

_“Yessir!”_   

* * *

 

Carlton Lassiter was a sentimental man, secretly, but he rarely gave into the urge to open the box sitting in front of him. The last time had been right after Victoria left, and all he wanted to do was shrink away and disappear. He’d drank himself stupid, and stumbled up those stairs, crawled through the storage and pulled it out. Tears burning and itching, the entire room smelling of an apartment only real in memory now and dust, pictures scattered as Carlton lost the battle he’d fought for so many years. Yanking at short hair and coughing as he pulled his knees against his chest and mumbled.

‘John, I still love you.’ Weak, hands shaking, ears ringing. ‘Why did you leave me?’ Vision blurry, room bright with a full moon. ‘Victoria you’re my sanity.’ Prayers to nothing, pleas for utopia, fingers itching for a need that never truly left him. He knew where to get it in this city, he was a cop now. He felt the scars burning, felt the buzz growing in the base of his skull, his teeth pressed together.

‘Carlton, I know you’re better than this.’

A voice he hadn’t heard in years, a tone that Victoria could never use, words that always kept him safe from his past. 

‘John, I still love you.’ 

Carlton held the shirt to his chest, letting the memory wash over him, letting himself hear John’s voice again. Taking a deep breath he reached up and clutched the dog tags in his palm, and started putting everything he’d taken out back in the box. He paused, though, when holding the old, faded photograph. He set it gently on the top of the box and lifted the entire thing into his arms.

The detective carried his memories down the stairs and to his bedroom. Taking the picture out he set it gently on the table beside his bed and put the box at rest next to his closet. 

For a rainy day, or tomorrow night.

 

* * *

“Lassie!” Shawn sang as he cha-chaed into the station. Lassiter lifted his head slowly, angry scowl already plastered on it.  Spencer grinned, and Lassiter saw the worry there. The cracks more obvious now than they were before, a fear deep inside hazel eyes. His interest spiked and he decided to respond, if only to get more face time with the man.

“Spencer.” He growled, sitting up straighter as Shawn leaned against the pole nearest his desk. Burton was close behind, chatting with O’Hara. “No, you can’t get on this case. No, you may not look at the file; and finally: No, you cannot borrow my Lynyrd Skynyrd tapes.” Shawn put up his hands to halt the words, but then his face wrinkled with confusion.

“You have Skynyrd tapes?” Shawn yelped, standing up straight and squinting. “Didn’t take you for the type, Lassie! You always surprise me.” His grin was blinding, at least it should’ve been. The shadows the swept over his cheeks, and the darkness in his eyes told a story Lassiter hated having to read. 

“Helloooooo.” Shawn wagged his hands at Lassiter, who was staring at him with concern, and pursing his lips. “Lassie-frass has finally broken, you guys. All that bad hair and brain power was just...too much.” He pressed a closed fist to his lips, shaking his head as if mourning the loss of a household pet. No reply came from the detective, and the mock-concern that warped Shawn’s features was slowly changing to full blown paranoia. Carlton could see the moment Shawn knew-really knew- that the detective had finally picked out his lie.

He could see the pure, unadulterated horror. 

Something small and childish within him climbed it’s way to the surface. Pushing past every barrier, ocean, and obstacle he’d built to keep it inside. The tiny, innocent, good-doing seven year old that he once was breaking free at the sight of terror filled hazel eyes and the absence of mischievous. The part Carlton had convinced most he didn’t have: the empathy and common courtesy of a gentleman. The ability to fluff the edges up, to hide the truth in the cotton of lies. He hadn’t done it in years, but in that moment with that obnoxious man that usually grinned at insults standing in front of him, looking lost and alone and petrified he found a reason to act.   

“Get lost, Spencer.” He sneered, “I have real, actual, adult things to do.” He said, pushing his voice up an octave, mocking. The consultant seemed to relax at that, but only minimally. Normal was what a liar thrived on after all, Lassiter knew that personally. Something new, something unexpected was what broke them. Usually, he counted on it, but today...Today he only wished to let Shawn keep up his game of pretend.

What was happening to him?

“You hurt me, Lassie.” Shawn flung himself dramatically backward, arching his back against the pole. One hand clutching his chest, the other guarding his eyes from the light. “Right here.” He beat the hand on his chest twice. “Right...here...It’s horrible, like you’re tearing my...heart...out.” Shawn fell onto Burton, earning himself a disgruntled huff and a shove. “Why does everyone want to wound me so on this fine morning?”

“It’s the middle of the afternoon, Shawn.” Burton scoffed, crossing his arms.

Spencer squinted at the man, sighing deeply before regaining his dramatic pose. “Why do you all wish to wound me so in the middle of this afternoon?” He sobbed, adding a bit of annoyance to the ‘afternoon’ before snapping back into a normal position like a toy doll. “Good-bye, my sweet sorrow...s!” With that Spencer very literally twirled out of the office, leaving Guster to stomp after him. 

“He is such an odd one.” O’Hara smiled fondly, like a sister watching her little brother sing on the table top. 

“If odd is what you want to call it…” Lassiter replied, turning back to his paperwork stiffly. The dark look on Spencer’s face seemed to float there, across the words and names. A fear he could only compare to the look on the faces of criminals at the other end of his gun, a look that should never have taken a home on his psychic’s-

His?

Carlton really needed to catch up on his sleep if he was referring to the agonizing ‘psychic’ as his. Like he would ever even think of Shawn Spencer as something that meant enough to him to be his...Of all the ridiculous things that insomnia could cause this had to be the most illogical-

“Why’re you wearing dog tags, Carlton?” O’Hara asked conversationally, glancing at him curiously. Lassiter looked at John’s tags, swallowing hard, then turned back to his partner.

“Personal crap. O’Hara aren’t there cases to work?”

“Cases that Shawn could probably solve if you-”

“Another word and you're working with McNabb for a week.” She put her hands up in surrender, but a smirk still graced her lips as she walked back to her desk. Lassiter frowned at his pencil, mumbling curses in a long string at the general world. As O’Hara’s thin figure faded into a room Lassiter couldn’t keep his mind on the case in front of him. 

So many times his heart had been broken, just like anyone else's. For awhile he believed only heartbreak came of love, everything would end in pain, but he grew up. He realized pain and love weren’t sisters, they were the same beast. To have on you had to have the other. He accepted when his wife left him as part of his love for her, but the idea that Shawn thought only pain existed, Carlton knew a life like that could only end one way.

It was his responsibility, now, to try and pull Shawn out of the hell he’d made for himself.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm re-reading this and I hate the fact I basically made John Watson be Carlton's ex. So there will be some changes to that past character.

**Author's Note:**

> REVIEW IT TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK!


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